


Echoes in the Well of Silence

by unicornsandbutane



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 21:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8912701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornsandbutane/pseuds/unicornsandbutane
Summary: Hermann can hear Newton through the ducts.





	

The thing is, they'd lived in the Shatterdome for years, and were therefore fully aware of how sound carried through the ventilation system, and sometimes through the walls when the pipes weren't going. Depending on what else was going on and causing noise, Hermann could sometimes hear Newton drumming pencils against his desk in tune with some old Mastodon album. If there was no construction blocking everything out, Newt could sometimes hear Hermann singing in his en-suite shower. So it really shouldn't have been a surprise when Hermann awoke from a dream in the dead of night, in the utter darkness associated with living underground, and heard a muffled moan. 

 

Obviously he knew where it was coming from. There were a precious few people living on their sublevel, rife as it was with odd smells from the lab, and besides which, one doesn't spend as much time in close proximity with someone as he had with Newton Geiszler without learning something about the particular tonality of their voice. Now that he was awake, he sat up a bit in bed, and, somewhat shamefully, strained to hear. Was it... Was he doing what he thought he was? How ridiculous he'd feel if it turned out to be something completely innocent, and he'd merely imagined that it sounded like-- well. 

 

He sat perfectly still, and breathed silently, waiting to see if he would hear another incriminating sound. There it was: a short grunt, cut off by a ragged gasp. Hermann wondered what Newton looked like, what he did to pleasure himself. Would he tease himself slowly, trailing surgeon's fingers over the swirling colours that led the eye down his body, trace the wicked maw of Kaiceph on his thigh? Or, would he seize himself with impatience, grip his cock tight in one hand and stroke fast, stuffing the fingers of his other hand into his mouth to quiet his sounds? Hermann felt arousal twisting within him, but ignored it in favour of staying exactly as he was, so he wouldn't miss the next sound loosed from Newton's lips. He hated himself for it, of course, but, he wasn't hurting anybody by only listening-- nobody but himself. 

 

The next breathy groan was sustained until it turned to a hum, and Hermann imagined that Newton had turned his face to press into his pillows, still making some effort to be quiet despite it being three o' clock in the morning, when all sensible people would be asleep. Not Hermann though. This thing within him had gone far beyond sense and logic, and it made his cock hard, and it hungered for another moan rattled through the pipes. He took a deep, steadying breath, and held it, and just then heard Newton say, "Fuck, mm," and he could almost, almost hear the man's hand on his flesh. He could hear the bed creaking softly with each of Newton's movements and knew that he'd sped his pace. He could hear Newton strangle on a gasp. Was it going to be over so soon? 

 

Hermann understood the desire to get off quick when time was short. Perhaps Newton had woken from a lewd dream, hard and aching, and wanted only to achieve release so he could return to sleep. He wondered what images Newton's mind conjured to produce such a reaction. What did he think about when he touched himself? Hermann bit his lip and dared not hope. He knew too well what he himself imagined when he thought no one would hear him, when he reached into his trousers to rub himself slowly. Barely daring to breathe, he pressed the heel of his hand against the erection tenting his pyjamas, closing his eyes in pleasure and pain. He would have to wait, wait until he was sure Newton was asleep, before he could do what Newton was doing just then, and call up these very sounds in his memory to spur him along. He gripped himself through his trousers, tight, and punishing. 

 

In the next room, Newton huffed out a breath, then mumbled, "Shit, yeah..." as though he were imagining somebody else there with him. Hermann didn't want to think about that, didn't want to think about whose image in Newton's mind brought the man closer and closer. He thought for a moment what it would be like to hear Newton gasping his name as he finished, and had to squeeze himself tighter to fight the way his cock twitched at that. 

 

It would be soon. Small noises rose in the back of Newton's throat, rising in pitch, and Hermann pictured his face, red with effort, glasses gone, hair a mess on the pillow, licking and biting his lips-- Newton came. He came with a high, fluting cry he clearly tried to muffle in his hand, but failed to conceal from Hermann's burning ears. "Ah, shit, goddamn," Newton panted, wringing out the last spurts of it, while Hermann bit his lip hard to keep from making any sounds of his own because despite his best efforts, he was coming too, breathing hard through his nose with tears sticking to his eyelashes, feeling the hot rush of his release seeping between his fingers and staining his pyjamas. He swallowed thickly, and tried to regulate his breathing, his heartbeat, listening to Newton rummaging about, cleaning up, rolling over and going back to bed. 

 

Hermann didn't think he'd sleep for awhile. 

 

He lay there, alone in the darkness, his hand still sticky with his rapidly drying release, and knew that apocalypse or no, he was doomed.


End file.
